The Second Element III: And Broken Fragments
by Tyraa Rane
Summary: Guybrush thought things couldn't get any worse when Elaine locked him out of the house for good. But now his daughter's threatening to do the same, and then they find out about a nasty little curse...[on permanent HAITUS]
1. Act One: Twilight Long Begun

_Disclaimer: I still don't own the Monkey Island series and affiliated characters/settings/etc (they all belong to LucasArts), and I still do not make a profit from these works. Just borrowing, per usual.  
  
A plague o' both your houses!   
-- Romeo and Juliet, Act III Scene 1_

  
  
And Broken Fragments  
  
  
Act One: Twilight Long Begun  
  


  
  
Armena's father showed up at her door early one morning, at the same time as the redecorators. He staggered inside bleary-eyed and weighed down by piles of luggage. Without saying a word, he shoved a wad of papers into Armena's hands, found her couch, and collapsed on it with a clatter of falling suitcases. The redecorators looked on with amusement.  
  
Armena cleared her throat. Okay guys-- they all snapped back to attention or something like it-- get to work. And don't forget about that bird...gargoyle...thing. She shuddered. It's giving me the creeps.  
  
Right, lady. One of them grabbed the doorhandle and pulled the door shut. She watched their shadows recede through the fogged glass until she was certain they'd get right to work. Then, with a long sigh, she turned around to deal with her father.  
  
Dad, what's--  
  
Look at the papers, interrupted the pile of luggage on the couch.  
  
With a faintly amused look on her face, Armena unfolded the papers and smoothed them out. She scanned the first two, then flipped through the rest. The amused look disappeared.  
  
Dad, this...this is a joke, right? I just talked to Mom a few weeks ago, everything was fine--  
  
Yeah, I thought so too. The suitcases shuddered with something that might have been a sigh. When he didn't say anything for a while, Armena began to worry Guybrush might have suffocated under all that weight. She hurried over and began moving the suitcases onto the floor, asking questions as she worked.  
  
Well...did you try talking to her? Did she give you _any _warning? There's a chance you can fight this, right?  
  
Yes, no, and maybe. Freed from the weight of the suitcases, Guybrush sat up, rubbing his temples. I just...is it okay if I stay here for a while?  
  
Armena looked around at all the dusty, musty furniture. Half of it hadn't been touched in years, much less dusted. Um, well, there's only one bedroom...and I still can't find the key to the guest house...  
  
I'll sleep on the couch, Guybrush answered quickly. Since you got all those creepy animals out of here, I guess it's safe.  
  
She sighed. The house--newly bought for a lot more than it was worth--was still a complete mess. She didn't particularly like the notion of adding her father into the equation. _But it isn't like he has anywhere else to go_, she admitted grudgingly.  
  
All right, she said at last. I...guess you can stay. You're here to talk to the lawyers, right? I mean, you're going to fight this, right?  
  
Guybrush hesitated for a moment. Um...yeah, sure!  
  
Armena eyed him doubtfully. Then she handed the papers back with a heavy sigh. I could go talk to her too, I suppose. I mean--she never said anything about a divorce. What happened?  
  
Guybrush either ignored her question or didn't hear it. Hey, do you have someplace we could stuff all these suitcases? When she gave him an odd look, he elaborated. Mine's that one there-- he pointed to a tiny suitcase, easily the ugliest of the lot. The rest...er, Elaine did a little cleaning before she kicked me out. She told me to take all this junk with me.  
  
Armena hung her head in her hands. _Just what I need, more junk._ She was about to say something entirely rude and inconsiderate when one of the workmen stuck his head in the door.  
  
Hey, lady? Did you want a new front walk?  
  
She raised one eyebrow and peered past him--just enough to see a now slightly battered gargoyle bird, resting on newly broken cobblestone that had once made up the entryway.  
  
Um, no, not really...  
  
The man shrugged. Well, ya got one now. He closed the door. Armena turned back to her father.  
  
I'd better go deal with that. You...just stuff the suitcases in that closet over there. And watch out for the stuffed koala. He bites.  
  
Guybrush paled, and Armena hurried outside to go yell at the workmen.

===  


  
  
Armena threw the door to the Rotted Coffin open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind her. All conversation stopped as everyone stared at her for a moment, made sure she wasn't looking to disembowel anybody, and then returned to whatever it was they'd been doing. The quiet hum of conversation quickly resumed.  
  
One man, however, standing over by the bar, didn't return his attention to his drink. He kept staring at Armena until she noticed him--then he waved. Mena! Over here!  
  
She stepped over a comatose drunk and pushed her way past two pirates in the middle of a heated argument to get to him. She didn't relax until she was standing by the man's side at the bar.  
  
he said, his blue eyes smiling warmly, I was wondering when you'd show up. Let me buy you a drink.  
  
She groaned and slid onto a bar stool. Ugh, please. I could use it.  
  
He frowned. What's wrong? I heard you'd bought the old Mandrill mansion...trouble in paradise?  
  
Oh, no, the house is fine...a complete mess, but it's nice to have a house that doesn't come with loaded cannons.  
  
He pressed a mug of near-grog into her hand, thanking the bartender only as an afterthought. So...what's the problem?  
  
She didn't answer him for a minute--instead taking a long drink from her mug and then making a face. Don't they have anything stronger?  
  
No way. I've heard how you handle grog. Er, don't handle, that is. He coughed and raked a hand through his short brown hair. But really--what's wrong?  
  
Armena sighed and watched him for a moment before she answered. My mother threw my father out of the house and filed for divorce. He's been living on my couch for the past ten days. He was _supposed _to talk to the family lawyers, but I haven't even seen him leave the house yet.  
  
He frowned and moved to squeeze her hand sympathetically, then stopped. Sorry, Mena...I didn't know. I'm sorry. But I think you're right--I didn't even know your father was here on Lucre. Maybe I just didn't notice him, but he's a pretty hard guy to miss.  
  
Armena sighed and took another long pull from her drink.  
  
he slid into the seat next to her and leaned in close, as if afraid of being overheard. I've got some good news.  
  
  
  
I just got word from a friend of mine...Bill's been spotted on Scabb Island. They say he's put in for repairs on the _Persephone_; he'll be there a week, at least.  
  
Armena shot him a thinly-veiled glare. He's _your_ cousin, Will. If you want to go after him, that's your business. I'm not interested.  
  
Will's eyebrows shot up. But Mena, I thought...I mean, _Persephone_'s your ship...  
  
It's Bill's now, she corrected sharply. I gave it to him.  
  
After the most spectacular argument in the history of piracy... Will ducked as she swung a hand out to slap him.  
  
There's no truth to that rumor, and you know it, she snapped. I wanted to quit and come back to Lucre. Bill--  
  
--didn't want you to leave, Will finished. He watched her closely for any sign that she might try to slap him again--or worse.  
  
He was fine with it, Will. I gave him the ship and I left, the end. She drained the last of the near-grog from her mug and slammed it down on the bar. A few patrons glanced warily her way.  
  
That's not what he told me, Will pressed, shaking his head. He wrote me a letter right afterwards--Mena, he wants to see you, you know that. Now would be perfect; my ship could be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. I'd take you.  
  
Armena stood up. If he wants to see me, then he can come here. I've got no reason to be chasing after h im. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got other problems to deal with. She left without giving him a chance to say goodbye, slamming the door like she had when she'd come in.

===  


  
  
Once outside, Armena took a deep breath of fresh air. It was just past twilight, and most of Lucre Town was shutting down for the night--except for the Rotted Coffin and the Hall of Justice. The streets were, for the most part, deserted. Armena stepped aside to let a couple of pirates into the bar and then took another look around. A light was on in the Law Offices of W.T.D., which was fairly unusual--the lawyers rarely, if ever, worked overtime.  
  
_I hope that means Dad finally got around to talking to them, _she thought, and immediately realized how ridiculous the idea was. _If he hasn't gotten there yet, he probably never will._  
  
Sighing, Armena walked to their door and tried the handle--unlocked. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.  
  
The first thing she noticed was that everything was in boxes--the bookshelves were bare, and the expensive oriental rug was rolled up in a corner. Even the lawyers' towering portrait had been taken down.  
  
May I help you?  
  
Armena turned, surprised to see one of the lawyers--the tall one--standing behind her, sorting through a small handful of files. He appeared to be the only person there.  
  
Um, yes, I'm--  
  
If you're looking to open a new case, I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere, he interrupted. The files in his hand were dumped without ceremony into a box. The Law Offices of W.T.D. are closed. Permanently.  
  
Armena's eyes widened.   
  
We've decided it's time to retire. Nobody's sued anyone in weeks! Life has gotten, shall we say, _boring_.  
  
  
  
He coughed, obviously unimpressed with her sputtering. If you're truly desperate to file a lawsuit or some such thing, madam, there is another law office over...oh, by Port Royal, I do believe. They've taken all our open cases.  
  
Armena frowned. So...they'd've taken my parents' divorce case, then?  
  
He reached into a second open box and pulled out a particularly thick file. That would be the Marley-Threepwood case, correct? When she nodded, he smiled. Yes, Ms. Marley paid us quite the handsome sum to make that case our first priority. It would have been closed by now if Mr. Threepwood hadn't simply taken the papers and run without signing them.  
  
Armena sighed. Right. That's because he doesn't _want _the divorce. Which is what I came here to ask you, actually--is there any way we could fight this?  
  
The lawyer hesitated for a moment, then, rifling through the file, merely shrugged. It's possible. But I wouldn't worry--the office your parents' case is being sent to has a history of botching its cases. The entire affair should fall through in a few months.  
  
_Well, that's something...not that it gets Dad off my couch any time soon, but..._ She paused and eyed the lawyer suspiciously. Wait...you don't care that you're sending such a high profile case off to such a bad firm?  
  
He shrugged his shoulders, a movement which jostled his powdered wig. Why should I? Besides, it works out in your favor in the end--why should you complain? Now go on, I want to finish this all before midnight. Go!  
  
He shooed her all the way out the door and into the street, closing the door as soon as she was outside. The lock clicked into place just a few seconds later. Glancing back at the door with a slow sigh, Armena started down the path for home.

===  


  
  
The moment she walked through the front door, Armena's eyes went to the couch. Yes, her father was still there--a tangled lump of blankets with only his blond hair sticking out.  
  
Don't you _ever _move? Armena grumbled, not really expecting a response. Then, rolling up her sleeves, she marched over to the couch--and shoved Guybrush right onto the floor.  
  
From the tangle of blankets, Guybrush's head emerged--and he didn't look very happy. He tugged the rest of the blankets away, wadded them into a ball, and tossed them onto the couch. Then he stood up and glared at Armena, rubbing a purpling bruise on his arm. What was _that _for?  
  
I'm sick of you just lying there all day, she answered immediately, folding her arms across her chest. You've been here almost a week, and you haven't done anything useful! Now _do _something!  
  
This late at night? What are you, nuts? He eyed the bruise on his arm with concern. And by the way, I think pushing me off the couch was completely unnecessary.  
  
If you actually did something, then yes, it would've been unnecessary. She smirked, picked up the wad of blankets, and began folding them, thinking the conversation was over.  
  
So if I helped you redecorate this creepy mansion, would that count as something?' Because that's all I see _you _doing lately.  
  
Armena tossed the blankets back onto the couch with a sigh. Dad, not this _again_...  
  
Why'd you give up the _Persephone_, Mena? The last time I saw you you were happy to be captain of a ship--taking after me, obviously, he added with a grin. Armena rolled her eyes.  
  
I told you two nights ago--I was tired of it. ...And I guess Bill and I had a few disagreements after we finished cleaning up the Caribbean. So I quit. It's been almost a year of nonstop work, Dad--I think we deserve a break.  
  
So this is what, a little side project?  
  
She shrugged. For now. As soon as I get things straightened out here, I'll go back to work. Honest.  
  
He watched her doubtfully for a moment, then sighed. Right. If you say so... Before she could retort, he continued. So, um, does this mean you're throwing me out?  
  
She walked around the couch and sat down. Well...no. Just answer me this: Mom couldn't have divorced you just out of the blue. Didn't you notice that something was wrong?  
  
Guybrush sat down next to her. Well...um...no. But then, we haven't talked in about three weeks, so--  
  
Okay, that counts as a clue, right there. She leaned back against the couch with a sigh.  
  
Guybrush frowned. Yeah, I guess so. I just figured it was better than her threatening to throw me out, which is what she was doing before that.  
  
Any reason _why_?  
  
He just shrugged. We had a few arguments. About you, and a few...other things. I don't know. I guess that's what did it.  
  
Armena cleared her throat uncomfortably. Arguments...about me?  
  
Just a couple, Guybrush answered quickly. Nothing--you know, nothing big, just, um... His voice petered out about then, for which Armena was grateful. She cleared her throat again and stood up.  
  
Right. Look, it's getting late. I need sleep. I'll see you in the morning...and I'm sorry about the whole, you know, shoving you off the couch thing.  
  
Don't worry about it. Just don't do it again, or you'll be in _big _trouble, young lady.  
  
Armena blushed and hurried up the stairs. In the safety of her own room, however, she leaned back against the door and began to wonder. _Dad should care that Mom wasn't talking to him. The Guybrush Threepwood I know would've been to see the lawyers a hundred times by now; he'd be fighting this. Not like it'd do any good, since the lawyers are retiring... Why is it that nobody seems to care about the things they loved most anymore? _Her thoughts flickered briefly to the last few days she'd spent on the _Persephone_, but she quickly shoved all those memories aside and went to bed.

===  


  
  
Armena didn't make it downstairs until late the next morning. She peered down over the staircase railing and watched the morning sunlight filter through all the dust motes. It took her a minute to realize what was different about the scene: her father was missing. The blankets were folded neatly at the end of the couch, with the pillow he'd been using balanced on top. She looked around and, not seeing him anywhere, bit her lower lip pensively. _Don't tell me he _left_...  
  
_Her feet had just touched the last stair when the front door opened and shut. It's about time you woke up.  
  
Armena smiled--her father was up and neatly dressed for the first time in days. Did you hit your head when I pushed you off the couch or something?  
  
He scratched his head. No...your redecorators woke me up, actually. By the way, they said to tell you that they quit.  
  
She blinked at him for a moment, dumbfounded. Okay, what did you--  
  
It wasn't me! Guybrush interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. They said they were quitting the business entirely. Something about that weird fountain outside being the last straw.  
  
Armena pushed past him out into the courtyard. The workmen's tools were lying on the ground where they'd left them. Sunlight reflected off them with brilliant intensity. The front walk was only partly fixed, and stones to repair it and some of the rest of the house were still waiting in the shade of the gnarled palm trees. Just beyond the house, the strange, shark-like fountain lay on its side in the grass, tipped over to reveal the pipes underneath it. Supposedly, the water to it had been shut off--when Armena had picked up the house keys from him, Inspector Canard had mentioned that the fountain hadn't worked for years. But now a geyser of water sprouted up from the rusted pipes, spraying up almost five feet into the air before falling back to the cobblestones with a splatter.  
  
Silently, Armena made a slow walking survey of the scene. Guybrush wandered over to the toppled fountain and peered inside. You know, he said--his voice echoed weirdly--I think there's something living in here.  
  
He quickly pulled his head out of the fountain. Looking up, he saw Armena standing on the other side of the courtyard. Sunlight glinted off her long blonde hair--and the hammer she was holding.  
  
  
  
She looked up at him. Then, waving the hammer in one hand, she said, What kind of workman leaves his tools behind?

===  


  
  
Look, I think you're thinking about this too much, that's all.  
  
Armena kicked the kitchen door shut--it never closed right--and sighed. I just want to check and make sure there's nothing going on, that nothing's wrong. It couldn't hurt.  
  
Guybrush leaned against the back of the couch, folding his arms across his chest. Yeah, it could.  
  
Not _that_ again. _That's _why you don't want me to go see the Voodoo Lady, isn't it.  
  
I never said you couldn't see her, I just said I don't trust her. He sighed, frowning. I know she took care of you, Mena--I owe her that at least--but she lied to me. About a couple of things. Important things. If she'd just told me--  
  
Armena cut him off with a wave of her hand. I've heard that story before.  
  
Oh. Yeah. Oops.  
  
She opened up a box and dug around in it until she pulled out an old pocketwatch. After cleaning off the dust and making sure it still worked, she turned back to her father. Anyway, even if you're not going to see her, I am.  
  
Guybrush only shrugged. I'm not stopping you.  
  
She smiled brightly. Good. I'll be back in a little while--try not to break anything.  
  
You take after your mother _way _too much.

===  


  
  
Armena stared at the half-filled boxes scattered around with widening shock. Don't tell me--  
  
Armena. I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about me. The Voodoo Lady appeared from a back room, carrying a box overflowing with unused voodoo dolls. I had heard of your return to the island. Whether you would take the time to visit, however... She smiled mysteriously and set the box down on the floor.  
  
Are you--  
  
the Voodoo Lady finished, yes. It seems to be the thing to do this season, doesn't it? Pardon. She disappeared through a curtain of voodoo beads and returned a moment later with another box of voodoo dolls.  
  
Armena fell silent, her thoughts spinning around in circles. There's something wrong, she said at last. The Voodoo Lady settled down in her chair, nodding.  
  
Indeed. I knew it would bring you here.  
  
You know? Armena asked. What is it? What's going on?  
  
The Voodoo Lady motioned for her to take a seat. She did, perching precariously on a couple of boxes which she hoped weren't filled with anything explosive. I am glad to see your skills haven't atrophied any. Indeed, there is something wrong.  
  
After a pause, Armena tried prompting her. Well...what is it?  
  
A curse, the Voodoo Lady answered. Powerful, highly contagious, but not particularly effective. It simply drives those affected to leave behind that which they once loved most. Perhaps forever.  
  
Armena frowned thoughtfully. _Well, _she supposed, _that explains a lot. _That would include my parents too, right? She paused, then added, They're...getting a divorce.  
  
The Voodoo Lady nodded. So far as I have been able to determine, it has only affected those people your father knew...though it _is _spreading. It started about five months ago, shortly after you and your father defeated LeChuck.  
  
Armena leaned back in surprise, almost causing the boxes to tip over. Once she had steadied herself, she asked, Do you think the curse and LeChuck's defeat might be connected?  
  
The Voodoo Lady frowned, pressing the tips of her fingers together. Her brow furrowed for a moment in concentration--then she shook her head. I'm afraid I...do not know.  
  
What do you mean, you don't know? Armena snapped. Then, seeing the stern look on the Voodoo Lady's face, she quickly apologized. Sorry...the curse, I know.  
  
the Voodoo Lady said grimly. Then, I may, however, be able to point you in the right direction. You still have the Marley talisman, correct?  
  
How'd you-- Armena began, then swiftly dismissed the question. Yeah, I've still got it.  
  
Doubt flickered in the Voodoo Lady's eyes, but she continued anyway. The talisman will tell you who started this curse, as well as a way of defeating it.  
  
But I thought it could only deal with spirits. Though, I suppose it _did _break that curse Mom and Dad and half the Caribbean was stuck under...  
  
The Voodoo Lady smiled. The answer lies with the talisman.  
  
That was needlessly cryptic, Armena grumbled, standing up.  
  
It's the best I can do under the circumstances. Now, unless you're planning to help me pack my supply of dead chickens, you should probably go home. Your father's waiting.  
  
Armena nodded, swallowing quickly. Right. Um, good luck with the...you know, retirement thing.  
  
Try to get the curse broken before I sell everything. I don't know as if I could buy it all back.  
  
She took another look around at all the boxes and sighed. 

===  


  
  
Armena wound her way through the paths back to the mansion. The sky had turned cloudy and overcast, threatening rain, so she walked quickly. When she made it back to the mansion, she found all the workmen's tools had been collected and tossed in a pile by the fence. The fountain, such as it was, was still running. Smiling faintly, Armena went inside.  
  
So, where are we going?  
  
The question was out of Guybrush's mouth before she could even get the door closed. He was standing by the couch, suitcase in hand.  
  
Scabb Island, Armena answered, sighing. Guybrush frowned.  
  
I thought Scabb was a cess pit.  
  
It is.  
  
And that nobody in their sane mind would go there if they didn't have to.  
  
They wouldn't.  
  
So...why are _we _going there?  
  
Because we have to.  
  
Guybrush scratched his head. Remind me to ask the Voodoo Lady what she's been putting in those potions of hers. _Why _do we have to go to Scabb?  
  
Armena returned the pocketwatch to its box and began looking for something to pack before she answered. We've got to find Bill. And he's with _Persephone_, which according to Bill's cousin had to put in at Scabb for repairs.  
  
Couldn't we just send him a letter or something...?  
  
Armena shook her head. She pulled out a bunch of maps and began rifling through them. The Voodoo Lady says we've been cursed--  
  
Not _again_...  
  
--and we need that talisman of mine in order to break it. Or something like that. Anyway, Bill has the talisman, so we've got to go get it.  
  
Guybrush raised one eyebrow, then the other. And Bill has the talisman because...  
  
He just does, that's all, she snapped, shoving the maps back into their box.  
  
  
  
Look, we'll talk about it later, okay? Right now we've got to find a ship and a crew and get underway.  
  
Guybrush had just opened his mouth to reply when there was a sound like something heavy hitting the ground in the distance, a strange _whump _sound. The rickety banister on the stairway shook from the impact.  
  
What was that? Armena asked, looking around. Another _whump_, closer this time.  
  
Guybrush answered, setting his suitcase down. Somebody's attacking the harbor.  
  
Or the town, Armena said, just as another cannonball landed. This time the ground shook. Let's go.

===  


  
  
The trip to Lucre Town took a while, even when they were both running. The narrow paths were filled with pirates running back and forth, carrying weapons and shouting commands which to others along the way, which they might or might not follow. Defenses had become somewhat lax since LeChuck's defeat.  
  
By the time Guybrush and Armena made it through the gates, the attack was apparently over. Smoke rose from several locations throughout the town, and it looked as if the Palace of Prostheses had taken a direct hit. A couple of ships drifted in Lucre Harbor, but they didn't look at all offensive. Guybrush looked around, then at Armena.  
  
Some attack.  
  
Mena! Are you all right?  
  
Armena turned around just as Will, sweaty and soot-stained, ran up. I'm--we're fine. What happened?  
  
Will paused to wave a quick hello to Guybrush before answering. Don't know. This ship--no markings, no colors--just sailed right into the harbor and started lobbing cannonballs everywhere. They left just as soon as some of the other captains started returning fire. It's strange, because they seemed pretty serious about it. The attack, I mean.  
  
Did you get a look at the crew? Armena asked, frowning.  
  
All human and alive, so far as I could see.  
  
Probably just lunatics and pranksters, Guybrush offered. He kicked a piece of smoldering wood away, then winced as a stray spark nearly caught his boot on fire. Elaine and I used to run into them all the time. Pirates so happy to be free they'll attack anybody, people who haven't figured out that the old rumors aren't true...like that.  
  
Will shook his head. I don't think so...they did a lot of damage for a bunch of pranksters.  
  
But they left as soon as you started fighting back.  
  
Yeah, but--  
  
Armena, who had been staring off into the harbor, took that moment to interrupt. Will, your ship wasn't damaged, was it?  
  
No, thanks for asking. But--  
  
I want to borrow it. She turned to him and grinned. His eyes widened.  
  
So you're going to talk to him? He smiled, and looked for a moment as if he might hug her. Guybrush only looked on, confused. Mena, that's great! I knew you'd come to your senses, he'll be--  
  
Armena held up her hand to stop him. It's not about that, Will. I just need a ship and a crew, and I need them both fast. And since you're the only captain around here who trusts me near his ship since the _Iago _was sunk, you're it.  
  
Will shrugged. I don't know, Mena. If you were going to Scabb, it'd be a different story, but...  
  
We _are _going to Scabb, Guybrush said, feeling as if he were missing some important part of the conversation--and not liking it one bit. Will's eyes brightened again.  
  
The ship's yours, Mena. Just bring it back in one piece, and promise me you'll talk to Bill.  
  
Armena sighed.   
  
I'd better go make sure everything's ready to go. Meet me at the docks in half an hour. With another quick grin, Will dashed off towards the docks. The second he was gone, Guybrush turned to Armena.  
  
What was _that _about?  
  
It's nothing, really.  
  
Guybrush frowned suspiciously. Does this have something to do with why Bill has the talisman...?  
  
Armena answered, completely unrelated. Now come on, we'd better hurry. I've still got to get some things together. She struck out on the path back towards the mansion, but Guybrush hung back, still watching her suspiciously.  
  
If you don't hurry up, I'm leaving without you, Armena called back after she realized he wasn't behind her. Guybrush folded his arms across his chest.  
  
Hey! _I'm _the one who's supposed to say that! 


	2. Act Two: Our Ruined House

Act Two: Our Ruined House  
  


Land ho!  
  
Armena came up from below deck, stretching in the warm afternoon sunlight. That light quickly disappeared behind a cloud, though, bringing a scowl to her face. Scabb Island was just coming into view off their port side. It's about time, she muttered, heading for the rail.  
  
Guybrush was standing at the rail, too, watching as the island came into sharper focus. He hadn't seen it in years, and it had changed dramatically since then: Woodtick was still there, but it had been over the years by the shattered remnants of LeChuck's ships...and any others that had the misfortune of straying too close to the small town. The island had been stripped of much of its vegetation for defense purposes, and it had never quite found the strength to go grow back. The swamp, however, flourished, and now occupied about a third of the island.  
  
I didn't know they meant cess pit' literally, Guybrush said, wrinkling his nose. If it's this bad this far away...  
  
Armena nodded, pinching her nose shut. This shouldn't take very long. I hope.  
  
I hope so too. Elaine'll kill me if the smell gets into my clothes. He stopped and fell silent, staring down at the water below. Armena cleared her throat.  
  
I'd better go help the navigator, or he'll steer us right into those ships, she said, and hurried away.  
  
The navigator, such as he was, was actually the lookout. Both the original navigator and the lookout had tried to quit their jobs the moment Guybrush and Armena set foot onboard, and it was only after some incessant nagging and begging on Guybrush's part that they agreed to switch jobs, for variety. It wasn't going very well; they were two days behind schedule and had nearly run into a couple of hostile pirate ships along the way.  
  
Go _around _the ships, Armena told him, unless you want them to add us to their little collection.  
  
The navigator shook his head and turned the wheel. Look, lady, d'_you _want to navigate?  
  
Well, no--  
  
Then shut up and let me do my job!  
  
Armena shrank back a step. All right, fine. Put us in by those docks, there. And try not to wreck anything.  
  
He grumbled something unrepeatable and stared sullenly at the wheel. Armena returned to the rail and watched as the ship steered around the fortifications and towards Scabb's only docks. Lying far to the east of Woodtick, they were old, long, and twisted, and narrow enough that only one person could walk along them at a time. They had originally been built only to house one boat, but now there were five anchored along them--including, Armena was relieved to see, the _Persephone_.  
  
Bring us up alongside that ship there, she called back to the navigator.  
  
Yeah, yeah...I'll try not to hit the docks either, Your Majesty.  
  
Guybrush looked over at the navigator. Morale problems much?  
  
You could say that. She rubbed her temples and sighed. I _really _hope this doesn't take too long. I don't know how much more of this I can stand.  
  
As soon as they dropped anchor (narrowly avoiding several collisions with the other ships), someone from the _Persephone _who'd been making repairs to the mizzenmast dropped down onto their deck. Armena and Guybrush both jumped, but it was Guybrush who collected himself first.  
  
  
  
The other man grinned. Aye, that'd be me, cap'n. Glad to see your memory's not going. He peered around Guybrush and caught sight of Armena, eyes widening. What're _you _doing here?  
  
Armena's back stiffened and she folded her arms across her chest defensively. There's something I need to get from--from your captain. I assume he's around here somewhere?  
  
Estevan wiped some sweat from his brow and shrugged. He's not here, he answered quickly. Down at the Bloody Lip, last I saw. I dunno, he could be anywhere.  
  
Armena frowned.   
  
he echoed, his brown eyes darting from side to side. Well, that mizzenmast isn't going to fix herself, so it's back to work. Cap'n, he added, nodding to Guybrush. Then he hopped over the siderail and down onto the dock, making his way back to the _Persephone_.  
  
Guybrush raised an eyebrow at Armena. He doesn't seem to like you much.  
  
The feeling's starting to be mutual, she grumbled. I think he was lying.  
  
Why would he? Guybrush glanced over to _Persephone_'s empty deck, then back at Armena again. he began, a note of suspicion in his voice, does this have anything to do with why you left your ship in such a hurry? Enough of a hurry that you left the talisman behind?  
  
Would you quit asking me about that?  
  
Well, maybe if you weren't being so secretive about it...  
  
she said, sighing, I told you the whole story. What do you want, a written report?  
  
Guybrush frowned. Why'd you leave the talisman behind?  
  
Armena leaned against the railing, her arms still folded across her chest. Does that really matter anymore?  
  
Well, no, but...  
  
Smiling, she jumped away from the railing. Now, if you don't think Estevan's lying, why don't you go down to the Bloody Lip and see if you can't find Bill? _I'm _going to sneak onboard the ship and see if I can't find anything. When he looked as if he might interrupt with another question, Armena quickly shooed him in the direction of the gangplank. Go! Don't worry, I won't get caught.  
  
Guybrush cast her a doubtful look, but figured that if he protested any further, she might well _throw_ him off the ship. All right, he said slowly, I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't get into_ too _much trouble.  
  
She smiled brightly. Don't worry about it.

===  
  


Guybrush walked the long and winding trail from the docks to Woodtick as fast as he could, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. He found it more than a little suspicious that there was nobody out and about on the footpaths, and he jumped at the sound of wind rustling through the tall grass more than once. But he made it into town in one piece, crossing the bridge that marked Woodtick's only entrance and hoping there were no Largo LaGrande wannabes lurking around. Woodtick itself didn't appear to have changed much, except that a few new wrecks had been added, and the ocean below stank worse than ever. The fortifications had been put together such that water didn't flow in and out of the bay quickly, allowing bacteria to grow and thrive.  
  
The moment Guybrush started down the bridges that made up Woodtick's streets, though, he saw why nobody was out on the paths--they were all hanging around here. Pirates lurked in shadowy corners and any other place there was room, shoulders hunched, bottles of grog or lit cigars in hand. And they were all staring at _him_.  
  
Guybrush swallowed and kept walking, carefully not making eye contact. He didn't want to provoke any of them. One group in particular seemed interested in him--their leader, a skinny bald man with a patch over his left eye, was staring at him intently. As Guybrush passed by them, the man signaled to his cohorts, and they stepped out into the dim afternoon light, falling into step behind Guybrush. So it was that Guybrush covered the last few feet between himself and the Bloody Lip in just a few seconds, diving down the hatch and praying they wouldn't follow.  
  
When he landed--with a lot of bumps, scratches, and some bruised pride--on the floor in front of the stairs, he quickly stood up, dusted himself off, and made a quick survey of the bar's interior. All of the creepy pirates seemed to be outside; there was only one drunk snoring on the floor in the corner and someone plunking out notes at random on the bar's piano. Guybrush smiled.  
  
Looks like the bartender finally hired a new monkey.  
  
Oh, that's _hilarious_, Fripweed.  
  
He walked across the room and sat down on the piano bench beside Carla, leaning against the wall. She didn't look up at him, but to his surprise, she appeared to be sober. I know the drinks are bad around here, but I would've figured that you'd melted your tastebuds down a long time ago.  
  
She hit a low C that made his teeth rattle, glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. I don't feel like drinking, she answered sullenly. Ignoring the vaguely shocked look on his face, she continued, The bartender quit and wandered off somewhere anyway.  
  
Not like that stopped him, Guybrush said, motioning to the drunk in the corner. Carla only snorted.  
  
He was like that when I got here. She shook her head, returning her attention back to the piano. I think he's comatose.  
  
Guybrush peered over at the drunk again. Her assessment struck him as fairly accurate. So, um, Carla...  
  
Even when I'm sober, he bugs me, she muttered, plunking out a couple of high notes. _What_, Fripweed?  
  
You haven't seen Bill around here lately, have you? Estevan said he was supposed to be lurking around here somewhere.  
  
She snorted again and let her palms slam down on the piano, creating a screeching discord that had them both wincing. You want to hear something real funny?  
  
Guybrush frowned. Try me.

===  
  


Armena slid down over the side of her own ship, clinging to the shadows and keeping a wary eye on Estevan. He was tangled up in a sail that had gotten in his way, though, and didn't look as if he'd spot her anytime soon. Smiling, Armena crept over to the _Persephone--_dodging rotting planks along the way--and crawled in through one of the open windows.  
  
She ended up in the scullery, which was--fortunately--empty. As quietly as she could manage, she tiptoed over to the door, opened it, and peered out. This part of the ship seemed empty, too. Armena frowned for a moment, but decided it was nothing more than a bit of good luck and headed for the stairs.  
  
Just before she came up above deck, Armena paused again, taking a quick survey of the scene. A couple of crewmen were dozing near the helm, and Estevan still seemed to be tangled up with that sail. She took a deep breath and bolted for the captain's cabin, pushing the door open and dashing inside, hopefully before anybody saw her.  
  
Sneaking around on my own ship, she muttered under her breath, looking around.  
  
The cabin was empty, to say nothing of a complete mess. The bed hadn't been made, papers and maps were scattered all over the floor, and there were a few articles of clothing peeking out from under the bed that looked as if they'd petrified. _Looks like Bill hasn't gotten any better on the thing_, Armena thought, forcing a desk drawer open. It was empty and covered with a thin film of dust. The other drawers were empty too, though not dusty. Frowning, Armena started picking through the things on the floor. And when that search likewise turned up nothing of interest--such as the talisman--she resorted to gingerly picking up the clothes on the floor, trying not to touch them too much or disturb anything that might be living in them. But that, too, turned up nothing.  
  
Armena dusted off her hands and took another survey of the room. She didn't think she'd missed anything--and she was surprised that Bill wasn't here, or that he hadn't come barging in on her by now. Something's definitely not right, she said, sighing. I just hope Dad found _something _out. She turned around and slipped back out the door.

===  


  
  
Cap'n got kidnapped about two days ago. Some ship cruised in with no markings and no colors. Attacked all the ships sitting in the docks, grabbed him and ran. Carla shrugged. No idea why.  
  
Guybrush's eyes widened. Parts of that story sounded just a little too familiar for comfort. Um...do you know what direction the ship came from?  
  
She tapped a few of the piano keys experimentally. Not sure. If I had to guess, Lucre maybe. Why do you care? And why're you looking for Bill Duncan, anyway?  
  
, Guybrush answered, scratching his head. _Really complicated.  
_  
Carla snorted. I'll bet it is.  
  
Silence fell for a few moments, broken only by a handful of discordant notes from the piano and a few snores from the drunk in the corner. Finally, Guybrush cleared his throat and said, Hey, Carla...?  
  
  
  
If Bill was kidnapped...why did Estevan tell us he was here?  
  
Carla shrugged, tapping the middle C key over and over. He doesn't want anybody finding out we don't have a captain. None of us really want to get back to work. Besides...we didn't do much to defend the ship during the fight. He's afraid we might look bad.  
  
You already do, Guybrush answered, grinning despite himself. She slammed her hands down on the piano keys as hard as she could, and looked for a moment as if she might do the same to his head.  
  
When I want your opinion, she growled, I'll ask for it, Fripweed!   
  
The drunk in the corner snorted as if in complete agreement.

===  
  


Guybrush fled the Bloody Lip shortly after that, leaving Carla to her piano-playing. A few of the pirates gave him more than a passing glance as he went by, but he was moving so fast that none of them seemed to want to bother with him.  
  
Once safely out of town, though, he didn't slow down. He hurried all the way back to the ship, hoping Armena hadn't gotten into trouble while he was gone.  
  
To his relief, Armena was safe and sound, pacing around the deck waiting for him. She didn't even wait until he was halfway up the gangplank before she ran to the railing to meet him and blurted out, Bill's gone and so's the talisman.  
  
Guybrush nodded, though he frowned to hear that the talisman was missing, too. Carla says he was kidnapped. By the same guys who attacked Lucre Harbor, I think.  
  
She sighed, rubbing her temples. Does she have any idea who they are?  
  
  
  
Or where they went?  
  
Not a clue. Guybrush leaned back against the railing next to her, staring out at the open ocean. But whoever they are, they move pretty fast.  
  
Either that or our navigator' moves slower than we thought he did, she answered sullenly. After a moment she added, So what now?  
  
You're asking _me_? He blinked at her and tried to come up with a plan, fast. Armena only shrugged.  
  
Well, you _are _my father and all that. She began absentmindedly picking splinters out of the unfinished railing. But if you don't have any ideas...well, we could always go back to Lucre and talk to the Voodoo Lady again. She might have an idea where the talisman went. If she hasn't packed everything yet.  
  
_You _can talk to her, you mean.  
  
Yeah. Sure.  
  
She was just about to give the order to make sail when someone smashed into a stack of crates at the end of the docks, toppling them all. The man hardly seemed fazed by it, though, as he continued stumbling drunkenly down the narrow walkway, singing some song or another in French, extremely off-key.  
  
..._mais n'y perdons jamais la raison, on va...on va..._  
  
He stumbled closer to the _Persephone_, still singing, though he couldn't seem to remember enough of the words to make the song make sense. Armena snorted and rolled her eyes, brushing him off, while Guybrush yelped and dove behind the nearest available barrel. Armena arched one eyebrow at him.  
  
Um, Dad...  
  
_...et l'on court les rues à saute-moutons!_  
  
He peered out at her, though his attention was focused mainly on the drunk, who was staggering ever closer.   
  
Um, is there any particular reason why you're hiding behind a barrel?  
  
Guybrush answered, pointing at the drunk. I think it's Cyrano de Salon. He must've followed me from the Bloody Lip...I should've _known _that was him in the corner...he must be trying to do me in again. He dove down behind the barrel again as Cyrano slammed into the prow of the ship and then continued on.  
_J'en ai tant bu de ce...ce...ah, zeut_!  
  
Armena glanced between her father and Cyrano, frowning. I don't get it...who's Cyrano de...whatever. Who is he?  
  
Some kind of voodoo priest--only _completely _insane.  
  
Voodoo priest? Armena's blue eyes lit up. Guybrush caught that look and, knowing what it meant, immediately began waving his arms, trying to dissuade her without coming out of hiding.  
  
Oh no no no...Mena, trust me, you don't want to go _anywhere_ near him, he said, peeking up from over the top of the barrel. He's crazy! He'll probably curse you with some sort of horribly disfiguring voodoo curse! And he's _French_!  
  
She only rolled her eyes, hardly convinced. He's drunk--you can't curse anybody when you're drunk.  
  
Yeah, but I bet he'll-- He stopped suddenly, frowning. Wait...how would _you _know that?  
  
I was just guessing, she answered, smiling as sweetly as possible. Now, since we have a voodoo priest right here, I think I'll go ask him for advice. This'll save us a trip back to Lucre. Without waiting for a reply, she hurried down the gangplank. Guybrush watched her go, sighing.  
  
Armena didn't have to go far to catch up with Cyrano. He'd gotten stuck in a sort of cul-de-sac created by several stacks of crates and seemed to be having issues getting out. He was still singing, though under his breath, and it was punctuated by mutterings directed at the offending crates.   
  
Armena cleared her throat gently to get his attention without startling him. Excuse me?  
  
He whipped around and offered her a toast with an imaginary glass. _Amis, buvons_! Then he seemed to come back to his senses a bit and offered her a bow that nearly sent him sprawling onto the docks. Can I help you, _mademoiselle_?  
  
I think so, she answered, taking a step back as the smell of grog on his breath nearly overwhelmed her. Are you Cyrano de Salon?  
  
_C'est moi_! he cried, offering her another imaginary toast. Armena, not understanding a word of French, merely blinked at him.  
I'll take that as a yes.  
  
Indeed, _mademoiselle_. Now tell me, what brings you here? ...Better yet, what brings _me _here? He paused, looking around. Where am I?  
  
She sighed, doing her best to be patient with him. There's a curse that's been going around lately. And we--I--don't know what to make of it, and the thing that might be able to reverse the curse was stolen. I thought you might be able to offer some advice...being an, erm, fabulous voodoo priest and all.  
  
But Cyrano was only half-listening to her, squinting his bloodshot brown eyes as if concentrating. A curse? _C'est vrai_? You know, _mademoiselle_, I was once very good with curses.  
  
She wondered for a moment if maybe he wasn't the one who'd started this curse in the first place--but then brushed that idea aside, figuring he'd been drinking too much for too long to do anything resembling voodoo. Well, if you have any ideas about this one...I'm sure you've run into it--  
  
This is no doubt the work of my nephew, he interrupted, scowling, _espèce d'idiot _that he is. Armena leaned forward hopefully, thinking she'd finally caught some sort of lead at last--but then he continued, Of course, so far as I know, he does not know anything about curses..._mais _if he kept that ability to detect them, as _son mère _insisted he had... The rest of his sentence trailed off into unintelligible muttering, mostly in French.  
  
Armena broke him from his thoughts when she cleared her throat again. What's your nephew's name?  
  
He stared at her incredulously for a moment, then answered, Eligo de Salon--though I suppose he uses his father's name, as neither of them has any common sense. Eligo LaGrande, then, _mademoiselle_.  
  
_That _set her back on her heels, fighting hard to keep the look of recognition off her face. Not that Cyrano would have noticed in the first place--he was too busy getting into an argument with one of the crates that was still in his way. He turned back to her suddenly, though, stumbling towards her.  
  
Does _mademoiselle_ know _mon neveu_?  
  
When he nodded, she continued.   
  
Cyrano slapped his forehead, sighing dramatically--whether for emphasis or in all seriousness, Armena couldn't tell. He has not yet managed to get himself killed, then. Horrible news! Come, _mademoiselle_, I do believe this occasion calls for a drink. Perhaps a whole bottle. _Amis, buvons_!  
  
At which point he passed out at her feet.

===  
  


You are _completely _insane.  
  
Says the man who's been hiding under a bed for the last ten minutes.  
  
I told you, I got stuck! I would've been out of there in five if I hadn't--  
  
Armena grumbled, closing the door behind her. It doesn't matter anymore, unless you're going to spend the rest of the night under a bed.  
  
Guybrush peered over her shoulder at the closed door and folded his arms across his chest. I might, he shot back. What were you _thinking_, bringing him onboard?  
  
She pushed past him and headed up the stairs, taking a deep breath of air as soon as he was above deck--though she regretted it the minute she remembered Scabb's lingering aroma. Coughing, she turned back around to face her father, who had followed her up. He's a drunk, he's harmless. I couldn't just leave him out on the docks to get robbed and murdered.  
  
Guybrush stared at her. Oh, sure, he's _perfectly _harmless. He's only the reason you didn't have a normal life!  
  
She raised one eyebrow.   
  
You know what I mean.  
  
Not really. Without waiting for a reply, she headed straight for the captain's cabin. Guybrush followed after her and found her standing by the table, unrolling a map of the Tri-Island Area. I've been thinking about what we should do next, she said absently. Maybe we should go to Phatt Island...I'm beginning to wonder if Eligo hasn't escaped from jail. If he _is _behind this...then again... She sighed, frowning at the map. It'd be worth checking anyway, I suppose.  
  
Guybrush folded his arms across his chest and matched her frown with one of his own. I'm not running all over the Caribbean, and I'm _definitely _not going to Phatt Island. Scabb's been bad enough.  
  
She sighed again, looking up from the map. Then _you _think of something. Because I sure can't.  
  
We could start by throwing that crazy voodoo priest overboard and making a break for it, he suggested. She glared at him. Hey, it was only a suggestion...  
  
Armena rolled the map back up again and tossed it aside. I give up. I have no idea where Bill might be, and no idea where to even start looking. She rested her elbows on the table, hanging her head in her hands.  
  
Then I guess it's back to Lucre, Guybrush said. After a moment, he walked over to her and laid a reassuring arm across her shoulders. No big deal. We'll find him.  
  
It's not _him_ I'm worried about, she answered quickly,   
  
The door burst open then and Cyrano de Salon strode in, straightening his robes and trying to untangle his long auburn hair. Guybrush immediately dove under the table, which only drew attention to him. Cyrano looked right at him and blinked a few times, forcing his bloodshot eyes to focus, before they glinted with recognition and he yelled,   
  
Armena slid in between the two, blocking her father from view. Um, Cyrano--  
  
_Monsieur _de Salon to you, _mademoiselle_, he corrected absently, motioning for her to move aside. Now be away from here, you have a dangerously stupid man hiding under your table.  
  
She rolled her eyes, ignoring a muffled protest from Guybrush. I know. He's my father. And if you could not hit him with any sort of horribly disfiguring curse or anything...well, I'd appreciate it.  
  
Yeah, that'd be nice, Guybrush added.  
  
Cyrano snorted. _Mademoiselle, _I doubt that _votre père _has gained any intelligence since the last time we had the misfortune of meeting, but I shall refrain from cursing him again, as you request, so long as _he _refrains from speaking in my presence.  
  
Thank you, Armena said, glancing back at Guybrush to make sure that he was willing to agree, too. He glared, but didn't say anything, slowly climbing out from under the table.  
  
--And perhaps, this time, he will not so horribly bungle my plans.  
  
Armena turned back to Cyrano, blinked for a moment, then said, You're still not sober, are you.  
  
On the contrary, _mademoiselle_. I long ago perfected the art of, as your unhygienic pirate friends like to say, sobering up fast.' He offered her a small, patronizing bow and an equally patronizing smile. As for _votre père_, when I cursed him with _les mains de Midas_, it was my intent to teach him the consequences of being such an annoying, stupid little man. How he managed to break the curse-- and at this he glared at Guybrush-- I do not know, but he did not do it soon enough. Apparently, both of us were looking for the same man, one Largo LaGrande. I was unable to find him before _votre père _did, and so I assume that he is either dead or still under the influence of _les mains de Midas_, which _votre père _undoubtedly passed onto him. As such, it became quite impossible for me to find him.  
  
Armena nodded, leaning back against the table. He's still alive, so far as we know--but nobody's seen him for about six months. I think he's--  
  
Guybrush poked her hard in the small of her back then, interrupting her train of thought. Armena whirled around, glaring.   
  
He only put a finger to his lips, motioning for her not to reveal too much. She snorted and turned back around, stepping forward so that she was safely out of his reach. Like I was saying, she continued, ignoring the amused smile on Cyrano's face, I think Largo's still under that curse...um, whatever you called it. But I don't know where he could be. Nobody's really been looking for him lately--we've been too busy putting the Caribbean back in order.  
  
Cyrano nodded to her politely. I thank you for the information, _mademoiselle_, but I am afraid that it will be of no use to me.  
  
But you just said--  
  
I was looking for _Monsieur _LaGrande with the intention of bringing him back to his wife--_ma soeur_--and their child, whom he had chosen to abandon in his rush to exact revenge on _Monsieur _Threepwood. I cannot do that now, as I would only be bringing him back to a tombstone and a silly boy long since gone missing. For a moment, his dark brown eyes almost seemed weary and grief-stricken, but he quickly composed himself once again. As I have said, your information is of no use to me.  
  
Armena stared down at the floor, shifting her weight uncomfortably. I'm....I'm sorry.  
  
He smiled. _Merci, mademoiselle_. And if I may...I seem to remember that you wanted to know something about...a curse, _n'est pas_? When she nodded, he continued, I still believe that my nephew Eligo has something to do with it. He is, after all, his father's son.  
  
Guybrush interrupted, don't you think it's possible Le--  
  
There are worse curses than _les mains de Midas, monsieur_, and unless you put your words in the same dark, dusty place where you seem to keep your brain, I will not hesitate to use them. Cyrano glared at Guybrush over Armena's head. Guybrush flinched and fell silent, but returned the glare with one of his own.  
  
Cyrano ignored it and returned his attention to Armena. When he was staying on Vodun Island, _Monsieur _LaGrande used to mention an island I believe his family once lived on--Pierda Island, _je pense_. It is not so far--about two days' journey straight east after you have left the Tri-Island Area. Not many know of its location, but I know for a fact that _mon neveu _knows where it is. He may have chosen to hide there if he is truly the guilty party. May I suggest, _mademoiselle_, that you look there for him?  
  
Armena nodded, trying to commit all of that to memory. Thank you, she said, moving for the door. I don't know if John--if Eligo--is behind all this, but it's a place to start. She paused in the doorway, looking out at the other ships moored along the docks. When she caught sight of _Persephone_, she couldn't help but smile, turning back to Cyrano. And I think I have a way to repay you for that information.

===  
  


Late that night, as their ship sailed away from Scabb Island as fast as it could, Guybrush and Armena leaned against the railing, watching another ship slowly disappearing in the other direction.   
  
I still say you're insane, Guybrush said, shaking his head. Who _knows _what sort of trouble he'll get into once he gets back to Vodun? He'll probably get the ingredients for some horribly disfiguring voodoo spell and show up here to try it out on us.  
  
Armena watched the ocean moving below them for a minute or two before she answered. He's out of our hair for now, at least. Knowing _Persephone_'s crew and the curse they're under, it'll take them _weeks _to get to Vodun, if it's as far out as you say. Besides, I didn't really see anything wrong with him, anyway.  
  
I told you, Mena, and he admitted it--he cursed me!  
  
You were annoying him, she replied calmly, not even bothering to look up. Annoying voodoo priests isn't a smart idea.  
  
He was just looking for an excuse.  
  
So you gave him one.  
  
He sighed, slowly shaking his head again. You just don't understand.  
  
Or maybe _you _don't. She pushed away from the rail, staring at him. I did the right thing.  
  
Was leaving the talisman with Bill the right thing,' too? he asked, returning her stare with one of his own. She didn't offer him anything more than a thinly-veiled glare, though, as she stormed off.


End file.
